


When My Fist Hits Your Face

by SerenityXStar



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Bakura's mouth, Blow Job, Hand Job, In more ways than one, Inexperienced Marik, Kinda, M/M, dirty boys, implied fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 00:03:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8229320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerenityXStar/pseuds/SerenityXStar
Summary: 'It had been a long day.  One of them had sniped at the other.  And when Marik had taken a halfhearted swipe at Bakura, Bakura had swiped back.  When it began, Marik was smiling, his blows landing with stings rather than aches.  Playful almost.He wasn’t smiling anymore.'





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if I'm to blame for this or the lovely DistractedDream is, but either way, enjoy some Yami Bakura/Yami Marik hotness? For the purpose of this fic (and semi-plot) Bakura and Marik both have their own bodies. Don't worry, the fighting isn't too graphic. Please leave comments. If people like this, I may be persuaded to write more. YuGiOh having taken over my head again and all. <3

_Crack!_

Bakura’s head hit the wall, back arching as his body immediately followed. He slid into a stunned slump, breathing heavily as he rested on his knees, trying to blink his vision back into focus. His limbs felt heavy, tired from the fight, from how long it had gone on. He was quicker, but Marik was bigger, more muscle and if he took too many more hits like that, he’d be done.

He was pretty sure his lips had been split at some point, or perhaps he’d bitten it. Either way, the warm, ticklish feeling at the corner of his lips was probably blood. Marik was stalking closer, growling, and he needed to get up, really needed to _move-_

Marik’s leg pulled back and he had just enough warning, just enough focus left to catch the kick before it could connect and do some damage, his fingers tight on the blonde’s shin, doing his best to keep his foot off the floor, immobilize him, however briefly.

He wasn’t even sure how it had all started. Since they’d managed to gain their own bodies, it had been a whirlwind of relearning, or in Marik’s case, learning period, getting used to the current time, the technology, the people. It was overwhelming. Without the blind drive towards vengeance, he couldn’t just ignore the details and press on.

Marik wasn’t faring much better, seeming constantly frustrated with people and their inane schedules, useless things like money for goods he wanted. Lectures about why he couldn’t just stab the salesman and take the damn clothes, what the fuck.

It had been a long day. One of them had sniped at the other. And when Marik had taken a halfhearted swipe at Bakura, Bakura had swiped back. When it began, Marik was smiling, his blows landing with stings rather than aches. Playful almost.

He wasn’t smiling anymore.

And the blood on Bakura’s lips and the bruises he could feel forming were proof that the blows were much harder.

He looked up, scowling at Marik, opening his mouth to speak, to ask him just what _the fuck_ his problem was. But he paused, closed his mouth again and used his goddamn brain for once. As well as the observational skills he’d honed a lifetime or twelve ago as a master thief.

No, Marik wasn’t smiling. He was scowling, glaring down at Bakura. His brows furrowed, fists clenched and shoulders tight. He was breathing hard from their grappling, from chasing and swinging. It wasn’t the rage Bakura had expected. It was frustration. Desperation. Bakura frowned, thoughtful, eyes sweeping quickly down the taller form, catching and holding suddenly.

He knew Marik was a little crazy and liked to fight… but.. Wait. Both brows went up and he carefully loosed a hand from Marik’s leg, wary, but drawn inexorably until his palm was pressed against the, very obvious, bulge in the Egyptian’s pants.

Marik’s lavender eyes went wide, immediately wrenching his leg from Bakura’s grip, stumbling until he managed to catch himself. His hands flailed, as if they weren’t sure if they wanted to reach for the former thief or strike out at him, do more damage. But while most off his body seemed to want to pull away, to step back and regroup, perhaps simple give in and flee, his hips have other ideas, giving the barest nudge forward into the warm palm, seeking. Plaintive.

He almost couldn’t reconcile the suspicions that were assaulting him. Marik was new. He’d been an alter ego of the original Marik, a side created for violence and strength and pain. When he’d first been created, Marik had been young. And then, when he took control, it had been in the midst of Battle City, and they’d all been busy with games and cards and Millennium Items and smug, asshole Pharaohs. Maybe Marik had never actually had the chance…

With a new determination, Bakura reached for Marik’s pants, using both hands to open them, nimble fingers parting the material and tugging it out of the way, freeing the hard cock trapped within. It was long and tan and looked desperate for attention. Much like the rest of Marik. Lifting his gaze to the lavender eyes boring into him, Bakura flicked out his tongue, delicately licking over the tip.

It was incredibly satisfying to watch Marik’s eyes squeeze shut, see the shudder wrack his body. When the Egyptian’s eyes opened again, he could read everything in them. The gaze on him was one part shocked, one part amazed and wholly wild. If Bakura’s mouth had gotten him into this, it could also get him out.

He parted his lips, leaned in and swallowed half of Marik’s cock in one slide.

He had to close his eyes, relish the feel of Marik hot and heavy on his tongue, the two hands suddenly sliding into his hair, gripping at the back of his head. Marik’s grip wasn’t as rough as he’d expected, tight, but cradling, keeping him close, as if he couldn’t stand to lose any contact, to have Bakura any farther away.

He moaned quietly, embarrassed by the noise, but the answering groan from Marik was reassuring, hot even, and he sucked to gain more noises. Marik delivers beautifully, gasping, his hips stuttering forward like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

Bakura blinked his eyes open, settling a hand on Marik’s hip, the other pressing against his own crotch, the tight, heaviness there aching under his touch. He ignored it as much as he could, contenting himself with the simple pressure as he slid farther down Marik’s length, taking more, sucking hard as he pulled back again.

It’s not the most comfortable blow job; His body felt a bit battered from their fight and his mouth ached, stretched by Marik’s size, his lips sore from the split. He tasted a touch of copper against Marik’s skin and it made him shudder, moving faster, ignoring the slick sounds he made as his mouth watered, sloppy and uncaring.

But Marik didn’t seem to mind, tugging at Bakura’s hair and he curled over him. It obscured Bakura’s view of his face, but he was treated instead to the sight of the muscles in his arms standing out, feeling his thigh tense. He could tell he’s close, could feel his cock throbbing against his tongue and he rolled it against the underside of that hard length, letting it slide just under the crown and the sensitive spot there.

The change in Marik’s breathing told him all that he needed to know, a string of gasps giving way to a shout, almost a roar as his hips flexed and he filled Bakura’s mouth, hot and slick and desperate. He abandoned Marik’s hip to stroke him through his orgasm, only pulling away once he was done. He waited until Marik straightened, meeting his gaze, then turned his head and spat, just to be a bitch, milky white splattering the floor.

If he’d been expecting anger, he was disappointed. Marik merely smirked faintly, still panting. His legs trembled, once, and then he sank down slowly, slumping in front of Bakura. The former thief started, feeling a tongue swipe against his lips, surprisingly gentle, cleaning away a smear of white, brushing against the split in his lip.

He certainly didn’t expect the groan, or the sudden closeness as Marik pressed in, licking greedily into his mouth. He made a sound; surprise? Protest? It didn’t matter when he felt a strong hand press against his own, then push it aside, gripping, rubbing him through his pants. He jerked, groaning, leaning into Marik. Everything ceased to exist, their fight, the aches, the hard flood under him. He needed to get off, found his hands shaking with it as he gripped at Marik’s shirt, whining against his mouth.

It didn’t take much. He hadn’t exactly had time to see to the needs of his own body in.. millennia, and apparently sucking Marik off had gotten him more worked up than he’d expected. The back of his head hit the wall, again, as he came, gasping with each pulse as his hips rose with the force, pathetically grateful that Marik kept the pressure against his dick tight, let him grind up against it until he fell back, oversensitive and sticky.

It took him a minute to force his eyes open, blinking lazily as he slumped against the wall. Marik was there, still close, watching him, though he wasn’t touching anymore. Bakura rolled his eyes at the Egyptian, halfhearted, not bothering to actually move, speaking for the first time since they’d been fighting.

“Feh. Asshole. You made me come in my pants. I liked these ones.”

Marik blinked once, then chuckled, pulling back to draw himself up, unfairly graceful, giving no indication that any of the hits Bakura had managed to land were bothering him.

“Serves you right, Thief.”

“Hey! I sucked you off! Gave you what you didn’t even know you wanted.” He finished in a mutter, absolutely not sulking as he crossed his arms.

Marik just waved a hand as he turned and walked away, tucking himself back into his pants as if as an afterthought. “Serves you right, calling me a ‘Ra-damned, Pharaoh loving, goat fucker’.”

Bakura opened him mouth to retort, but closed it again, huffing. He supposed that was technically fair. He grimaced, carefully making his way to his feet. Christ. He needed a change of clothes. And maybe a shower. And definitely a nap.


End file.
